He Could Fly Anything
by feel.that.fire
Summary: "He had said he could fly anything. He should have also mentioned that he could crash anything." A look at Poe bringing down the TIE fighter on Jakku and following him up to the point where he leads his squadron to retrieve BB-8.
1. Chapter 1

He had said he could fly anything. He should have also mentioned that he could crash anything. That is exactly what Poe Dameron thought as he trudged through the blistering sands of Jakku.

There he was, aimlessly stumbling across this dessert wasteland of a planet, the TIE fighter and his escape partner – he had personally named Finn – nowhere in sight. Well, nothing was really in sight. The sun reflecting off the sand was blinding and he found himself glancing up every few steps, a permanent squint to his eyes, before returning his gaze back to his boots. Nothing. He had seen nothing since he started his trek at sunrise.

Coughing up the dust that had settled in his throat hours ago, he wondered what he hated more: this dry, sweltering heat, or the freezing cold air he had found himself shivering in when he had come to. When he had first landed on this planet, so different from his own home, Yavin 4 – an exhilarated young pilot on a very important mission – he had thought that maybe it had its own charm. That the coarse sand didn't portray the true nature of the planet itself. He must have been insane at the time, because at the moment there was nothing charming about it. But perspectives quickly change when one crashes a ship instead of landing it.

He wondered how Finn was. Where Finn was. If Finn was even alive. There was probably another death on his conscious. Finn had wanted to escape the First Order, and Poe seemed to have helped him succeed in that. If you counted death as an escape. But Poe had survived, maybe Finn had too. For the umpteenth time Poe recounted what had happened, what he assumed to be, hours ago...

As Poe and Finn had bickered as to where they were escaping to, Poe must have taken his eyes off of the controls a second too long because he felt the all too familiar jolt of a direct hit, and their ship went spiraling out of his control.

He had desperately flipped switches and pushed buttons, had even yelled for BB-8 to try and level out their ship, before he realized BB-8 wasn't there.

It hadn't taken long for the spinning and the G-forces that pushed upon them as they violently tumbled toward Jakku to cause Finn to pass out. But Poe was an Academy pilot. The top of his class. He had trained for this. Well, not exactly _this_ , but something like it, and so far he had been able to remain conscious.

Desperately, Poe grasped his harness straps in a vice-like grip and let out a frustrated scream as the terror overtook him. He should have mentioned that he could crash anything. Should have let Finn know before they attempted this crazy escape. With no plan. Against the fully equipped First Order. Fleeing a Star Destroyer and its accompanying fleet. No back up. He should have mentioned crashing was a very viable option. Was most likely how this would end. Because this wasn't Poe's first crash landing. He had crash landed many times. Too many times for the supposed best pilot in the Resistance.

Crash landing wasn't something Poe was afraid of. When he had agreed to pilot the TIE fighter, he was afraid of a man in a mask invading his mind against his will. Of not completing his mission. Of leaving BB-8 behind to be scrapped for parts and the map to Skywalker retrieved by the First Order. But at the moment, he was afraid this wasn't going to be a crash landing. This was going to be a crash. A straight, fiery, can't-survive-the-impact crash.

Prying his eyes back open as his world whirled around him, he forced breaths through his nose to try and clear his mind. Accept his fate. This was going to be a crash. Not a crash landing. Crash landing involved some sort of meager control that he clearly did not have. A crash. There's really only one way to survive a crash – to not be in the ship when it did, in fact, strike the planet's surface. Poe and his unconscious companion had to eject.

His eyes flew around the control panel, searching for the gauge that told him his altitude. They were coming in hot from space. He didn't know their speed, how much time had passed since the missile had struck, if they had even entered the atmosphere yet. It was too hard to discern in the chaos and terror of their rapid decent.

Their shields must still be functional because the two passengers weren't consumed in flames. All he needed to know was their altitude. When it was safe to pull those red levers and get them the hell out of this First Order tomb. If Poe was dying in a ship, he was dying in a Resistance X-wing, not a First Order TIE fighter – stolen or not.

His desperate eyes found the proper gauge, and he focused on it, trying to see the numbers as he spun around uncontrollably, his un-helmeted head being jostled back and forth. Was that a zero or a six? A five or a three? At this point in time he really didn't understand why he liked the spinning rides at the yearly fair when he was a kid. A strange thought to have when the possibility of death was so close.

He felt himself fading. He would lose consciousness soon. Honestly he was surprised he held on this long. And although he wasn't completely sure they were at a safe altitude to pull that eject handle, they had a better chance testing fate if they got out now than if he passed out cold and the two went down in the ship.

He reached back, arm stretching uncomfortably behind him and groped for Finn's red eject handle. They should really make it easier to reach. Poe's fingers found hold and with a little yell, he frantically yanked it free. He felt Finns chair shoot past as air rushed into the cabin, causing even more chaos. Holding onto consciousness, desperation clenched Poe's heart. He was pretty sure he had stopped breathing and his heart had been racing so fast that it had seized, and with his eyes squeezed shut his hand found purchase on his own ejection handle and he pulled.

The next thing he remembered he had woken up shivering, still strapped in his pilots chair in the dead of night, and he had just enough sense to turn his head to the side as he vomited.

So yeah, he and Finn had made a nice little run there. As he had said, he could fly anything. But what came with those piloting skills was also the curse of being able to crash anything. And though he had yet to come across any wreckage of the TIE fighter, he could guess he had crashed it pretty damn good. As they said, he was the best pilot in the Resistance.

* * *

Authors note: And that's that. Treat me kindly, I haven't written anything for the eyes of others in a long time. Mostly I'm the one lurking and reading. But Poe has been in my head since I first saw him on screen and this popped in my head and I had to write it quick before work. This time I thought I would share since there's just not enough Poe writings. Please review, I would love to hear your thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The sun was high in the sky, and Poe found himself sitting beneath the wing of an old, downed rebel X-Wing, making use of what little shade it provided. It was the first shelter the young pilot had come across, and Poe had stumbled his way over and collapsed in the shadow of the wing.

After a few minutes he had gathered himself into a seated position, sand now caked further into his hair, and let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle. This was kind of ironic. There he was, a downed Resistance pilot, seeking refuge from a crippled Rebel X-wing – his choice ship. He could fly anything, right? Clearly, not anything. He patted the hull gratefully, thankful for the shade at least, but quickly pulled back his hand in a wince, the conductive metal burning his skin. For a moment he closed his eyes, and let his mind drift to an impossible scenario where the great pilot – Poe Dameron – got this sorry piece of junk to fly. Returning home in the ship that had meant the end of the Empire, metaphorically stating that the Resistance could come up from the ashes of the Rebellion, just as the First Order had from the Empire.

When he opened his eyes again he was startled by the sight of a young boy, probably around the age of fifteen, hesitantly taking in his seated form. Half turned away, and one leg already positioned ready to run in the opposite direction, Poe could make out a makeshift pack draped over the kid's back. It was an old Rebel helmet, rigged up with ropes and netting, providing a nice protective pouch for a few small essentials. He had another sack slung across his shoulder, which looked to be filled.

By the dirty face, hunched shoulders, slender yet strong features, and the packs weighing him down, Poe could infer the kid was a scavenger. This wasn't the first scavenger Poe had come across since he had started his trek through these god-awful sands. He had actually come across a few. And at first, he had thought he was saved. Other life forms! Helping hands! But he quickly found that these desert people were hardened and worked for every scrap they got. Kindness wasn't something given out freely here on Jakku, and charity was even harder to come by. And seeing how he was a beat-up man with nothing to trade, the scavengers were not willing to help. At all. Not even a nudge in the proper direction would be given unless Poe had something to give himself. He had considered offering up his clothes, but they were more tattered than what these people wore, and his thin t-shirt was the only form of protection from the harsh sun. Once, he was even threatened with a blaster when he thought maybe he could follow a group of scavengers at a distance, in the hopes they were headed toward town.

Poe managed to recover quickly before the boy could sprint away, "I was just leaving," he said as he pushed himself to his feet and grimaced as his sore body protested. The boy didn't respond, continuing to look him up and down and access his level of threat.

Poe knew he looked anything but friendly. His face was cut, bruised, and swollen. A swirl of yellow and purple bruising, and the deep red of dried blood caked all over his naturally tan face. He knew his lips were now peeling from the unrelenting sun and parts of his exposed skin where beginning to blister. And his clothes were in no better state than his body. He usually considered himself a handsome man. But his current state was a little too rugged to be considered rugged charm.

He made sure his hands were visible and didn't make any fast movements as he stepped out from under the shade, away from the X-wing. "Do you live here?" he said in what he hoped was a friendly voice, but he knew it came out scratchy and faint from his dried throat.

Still no response. "I like that pack you rigged up. I'm a pilot myself actually."

At those words, the kid's eyes lit up a bit. "What do you fly?" He inquired, his child-like curiosity making an appearance.

"I could fly anything. But," he chuckled and gestured to the ship behind him, "I actually prefer X-wings."

The boy went back to his silence and Poe gave a shrug as he began to walk away. He was through trying to barter and beg with these desert people. He couldn't blame them really, he had nothing to trade, no able body to offer. "Well I'm off. I didn't mean to trespass, but thanks for the shade. You take care of that ship."

His back turned, a few steps into his journey, he heard the boy call out to him, "Sand storm will be here within the hour."

Poe stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes, almost falling to his knees in defeat. Instead he let out a humorless laugh. "Of course there will be," he mumbled to himself. "Thanks for the heads up, kid."

He took two more steps before the boy's voice followed him again. "You're welcome to stay here until it passes. You'll likely die out there with no shelter."

Likely. Possibly. Probably. Most definitely.

Poe turned around slowly, the prideful man inside of him wanted to respond with, "I have nothing to trade with you." But all he could get out was a faint, "Thank you."

A few minutes later he found himself sitting under the trusty X-wing's wing once again, out of the sun's blistering rays. The boy had gone around to the hull where he was unloading the spoils of his morning's work. As Poe's mind drifted in a daze that was probably the result of his mind probing (that's what Poe had now taken to calling it. Better to keep a bit of humor in the situation) and the un-helmeted crash, his vision was suddenly overtaken by a small cup being thrust in front of him. His eyes followed the cup, up the extended arm, to the boy's face. When Poe didn't make a move to grab the cup, the boy shook it a little and said, "Here. Water."

All Poe could do was take it numbly and mumble, "Thank you." Those seemed to be the only words that he could compute since the boy offered his home up as shelter. The young scavenger settled in the shade beside the pilot, his own glass of water much fuller than his guest's. Poe took the water in two small sips, letting it sit in his mouth before greedily swallowing. He closed his eyes in relief for a moment before licking the cup clean of any remaining drops, thinking of his mother yelling at him for a lack of manners and the thought bringing a small smile to his face that hurt his cheeks.

"So what happened to you?" The boy beside him inquired, gesturing to the pilot's tattered clothes and mess of a face.

Poe decided to go with a shortened story, "Crashed." He stated simply, looking off into the distance for any signs of this upcoming storm. Suddenly, he voiced a question without thinking, "Hey, kid. You seen any downed TIE fighters around here?"

"There's a lot of downed TIE fighters around here," was his cool response – a scavenger never revealing his secret junkyards.

Poe gave a small laugh, "No, I mean…Like a…a...a fresh TIE fighter."

Suddenly the kid jumped to his feet and looked at him wearily, and it dawned on Poe how that sounded. He had just revealed he'd crashed and was now inquiring about a freshly downed TIE fighter. First Order members weren't known for being warm and fuzzy, especially on outlying planets such as this one.

"Oh, no! No!" He stuttered, "No. I'm not First Order. That's not what I meant. I stole the TIE fighter actually." He wanted to finish with, "I'm with the Resistance," but he was on a secret mission after all.

The boy, still giving him a semi-reluctant look, settled down again beside him. "And then you crashed it?"

Poe nodded once, not wanting to give details and relive his near-death experience. Especially when he was relatively sure he had killed his gunner.

"You must not be a very good pilot then."

The comment made Poe laugh. Actually laugh – for the first time since before he had left on this top-secret mission. "No. I guess not," he responded.

At that, the kid took both their cups, got up, and returned to his hull. He came back with a large piece of plastic resembling a tarp and dropped it at Poe's feet, "Tuck yourself under that as best you can, storm should hit soon." As he said these words, the still, almost stale air suddenly stirred and a gust of wind sent coarse sand flying into Poe's face. Looking up and squinting his eyes against the elements, he nodded once, "Thanks-…." He trailed off.

"Jos." The boy responded.

"Thanks again, Jos. I'm Poe."

"Tuck in, Poe. Good luck." And with those words he walked over to the X-wing cockpit and climbed in, pulling the latch down and comfortably settling in.

"Luck?" he mumbled, looking around him and addressing the figment like it was a person, "You hear that? How about cutting me a little break?" The wind just seemed to pick up, and Poe scrambled to get the tarp around him.

* * *

For what felt like many hours, but was probably only two, Poe sat with his back up against the X-wing, the tarp around him like a bubble and tucked beneath his sitting form. He tried his best not to move as the trap rippled around him, taking a beating from the gusting winds and whipping sands – giving its best fight to break free and fly with the squalls of the storm. Poe closed his eyes against the violent sounds, trying to think of anything other than the storm, his crash, the masked man's mind probe, the pang of hunger in his stomach, or his dry throat asking for water. He settled on recounting his squadron's maneuvers from when he was in the Academy. He had spent many long nights going over those until they were beaten into his brain. At the time, he had hated them with every fiber of his being. But on more than one occasion Poe's mind had settled back into the safe pocket of information, and it now acted as a soothing numbness.

The winds eventually settled and not long after he heard the creak of the old X-wing cockpit being opened. He removed the tarp from his face, taking in a breath of sand filled air that he immediately started coughing back up.

Jos headed over and handed him a cup filled with one mouth full of water as Poe unsteadily made his way to his feet. He could feel the sharp pains that indicated blood flow returning to his legs that he had kept tensed in a folded position throughout the storm, tarp tucked underneath them.

"Thank you again, Jos," he said accepting the water. He really couldn't thank the kid enough. After gulping it down Poe handed him the cup and reached down to fold the tarp – stalling. He wanted to promise the kid payment from the Resistance. That he would return and provide the kid with a better life. But he knew the chances of him ever finding Jos again were pretty slim. Becoming even slimmer when Poe realized it depended on him returning to the Resistance base alive. He didn't want to make an empty promise. Not after promising Finn he could fly anything – insinuating that they would escape the First Order's clutches alive. "You're a good man," he simply said, handing him back the tarp, "I wish I could repay you."

The boy shrugged, accepting the thick plastic. "You're welcome," he responded.

Not wanting to overstay his welcome, or ask for any more charity from a young boy who had little to give, Poe nodded and turned back towards the never ending sands of Jakku. Before he could take a step, the boy spoke one more time.

"A few TIEs went down yesterday. Town's that way," he pointed, "It's pretty torn up now, though." And he walked back to his X-wing.

Poe began in the direction Jos had pointed and pondered the kid's words. A _few_ downed TIEs? Town was _torn up_? His beat-up mind slowly processed the new information. It took much longer than it should have to dawn on him, but – hey – he had been through a lot in the last few days.

The First Order had been here. Maybe still was here. Well, Shit.

* * *

Author's note: Forgot to say, I own/disclaim the star wars universe.  
Well, decided to write another chapter because this part of the story won't stop floating in my brain. I think this may end up being a four chapter fic. We'll see. All mistakes are mine and I apologize. Reviews please!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

BB-8 was gone. Of that Poe was very certain. As he neared town, he saw two TIE fighters in the air, and having his pilot's eye he knew they were leaving the planet rather than heading out to scout the surface. If the First Order was leaving Jakku, then BB-8 had left too. Either in their hands, or off with some other smuggler or crazy pilot. He prayed it was the latter; his spherical droid was very resourceful, one of a kind, he had told Finn. Either way, BB-8 was gone. He had to get gone too.

He had approached town – well, more of an outpost than a town – well after dusk had fallen, and he was grateful for his timing. If he had stumbled into the settlement in broad daylight, in his tattered state, he would have attracted both attention and suspicion. He did not need that if he was planning on stealing a ship. And that was his plan – stealing yet another ship. The scavengers, people with close to nothing, hadn't been willing to seek a trade with him – so he figured his case was clearly hopeless. All his contacts on Jakku were spent, and this was the only solution he could come up with. He had to steal a ship. Any ship. He could fly anything, as long as it was able to leave this planet's orbit. That would make two stolen ships in the past three days. He was turning into a regular criminal. His mother would be ashamed of him. Actually, probably not. She was a once a Rebel pilot, she would understand the situation he was in. She probably had stolen a ship or two in her own career.

Just as he had suspected, there were no First Order TIE fighters in sight. Good. He didn't have to deal with escaping the First Order again. Not to mention, he really didn't care to fly a TIE any time soon. Not after his last experience. Not after the crash. He was pretty set on his encounters with TIE fighters, and if he ever saw one again, it would be too soon. Yeah, they could really move. But they also seemed to have a tendency to spiral out of control and crash in a fiery explosion. He figured it was fiery. He was passed out in his pilot's chair, slowly parachuting his way down from the skies, when the TIE had struck the surface, so he truly didn't know. It was just an assumption. But in his past experience, crashes were usually very fiery.

It was harder than it should have been to find a usable ship. With all the destruction from the First Order's raid, there wasn't much shelter to hunker down in and everyone that owned a ship seemed to be using it as their temporary sleeping quarters.

Poe shivered. With the sun no longer in the sky the temperature was quickly dropping, and the sweat he had worked up on his hike here had soaked through his shirt and was now beginning to feel like ice. This planet was definitely one of extremes. Sweltering sunshine. Whipping sand storms. Freezing nights. He needed to get off this desert mass they called Jakku as soon as possible before he died from exposure.

Finally Poe came across an old, unmanned Starhopper that looked like it would do its job. He gauged his surroundings, ducked his head and made his way over as nonchalantly as he could. Climbing in, he quickly disabled what little security measures it obtained to block anyone from commandeering the ship. Practiced hands started flipping switches, booting up the engines, turning on the lights, checking the fuel gauges, and doing a quick systems check to deem his new ride space worthy – and in no time the Starhopper was taking off. Poe held his breath, waiting to be chased or shot out of the sky, but none of that came. He was getting off this planet smoother than he had thought. In the back of his mind he really hoped that whoever he had stolen this ship from wasn't some nice Trader. It would make him feel better if the owner was a First Order sympathizer. Small comforts.

Poe steered the Starhopper with ease out of the planet's atmosphere and into the dark space beyond. A glance at his scanners revealed that there was no First Order blockade or Star Destroyer anywhere near. Either they had got what they wanted or they were looking elsewhere.

"Good luck BB-8," he whispered aloud.

Poe set his course to D'Qar and switched the controls over to autopilot, unclenching his hand from the yoke. He let out a deep breath he wasn't aware he had been holding and leaned forward, a few choice curses spilling from his sun burned lips. The next thing he knew, they young pilot was hyperventilating and if he had any water in his body to spare, he was pretty sure tears would have accompanied his ragged breaths. Every emotion he had been fighting to suppress – blocking it from his mind in order to find the strength to get out of his horrible situation since being captured – came crashing down on him at once and the man couldn't breathe. It was a giant mix of fear, pain, relief, desperation, hopefulness, hopelessness. He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling, but he was very sure he could not get air into his lungs. Being tortured, mind probed, fleeing a Star Destroyer, escaping a TIE fleet, violently crashing, stumbling through sweltering deserts, shivering through cold nights, stealing a ship – and Poe Dameron was going to die from a lack of oxygen because his lungs just wouldn't work during the first moment of security he had felt in days.

Gasping and choking, pulling at his hair, Poe raised his head and looked at black space and specks of star light surrounding him. This was Poe's safe place. His skies. His mother's skies. He knew he was at the mercy of the universe and relied on faulty machinery, but this is where Poe felt most at piece. He concentrated on the stars in the distance, cloaked in blank, black space. So much space. Poe was just a spec in this never ending universe. He was small. His problems were even smaller. His breathing slowly began to come to a manageable level and his hands unclenched from his hair and settled on his knees. He tried to take deep breathes, but his chest continued to hitch. He hated that so much. The gasping hitches of his lungs trying to intake air, that disturbed his deep breathing. It would pass in time but he had learned there was nothing to do about it. He turned his attention back to his controls and began to do calculations so he could make the jump into Hyperspace and greatly shorten his travels.

* * *

Poe didn't sleep, but he might as well have because he didn't remember his flight. He was stirred from his daze by a voice coming through his comm as he neared the Resistance base.

"Starhopper 717, you are approaching restricted air space, please state your name and your purpose."

He automatically responded with an introduction that was drilled into his brain from his many landings here, and threw in the only purpose that broke through his fogged brain, "This is Commander Poe Dameron. Call sign Black Leader. Requesting permission to land."

He desperately wanted to land this ship. Properly land it.

There was a beat of silence a second too long over the radio. As if they were not expecting to hear that. Their best pilot flying an unknown, piece of junk ship and requesting to land it at the crack of dawn.

"Repeat that, Starhopper 717."

"This is Commander Poe Dameron. Call sign Black Leader. Pilot identification Romeo Sierra 0-0-1. Requesting permission to land."

More silence. They probably didn't know what to make of him. Some may know him to be captured. Others may think him still to be on base, as this mission was secret and need-to-know only.

"Commander Dameron, I do not have you listed- Hey!-"

The voice in Poe's ear quickly cut out after what sounded like a scuffle, and a more familiar voice broke in. A voice that had greeted him many times over these waves after countless missions. The voice of his friend, Jack who worked in the control tower. Poe felt a faint smile come to his lips.

"Permission granted Black Leader. Proceed to dock B3. Repeat, proceed to dock Beta-3. Welcome home Commander."

"Copy that. Proceeding to dock Beta-3"

Poe began his landing procedures immediately. For a moment a feeling of panic panged in his gut as he flashed back to the last time he had brought a ship down – well, I guess the TIE had actually brought _him_ down – but the feeling vanished as quickly as it came. These movements were second nature to Poe. He didn't even have to think about them – thankfully. His mind wasn't up for much at this point in time, especially thinking.

The Starhopper touched down without a hitch, and Poe climbed out of the cockpit, shakily descending the ladder. He didn't quite get his footing when he hit the ground, and he stumbled and would have fallen had one of the techs working the landing bay not been there to steady him.

"Commander?" the young man asked a bit startled. "Are you alright?"

Poe disregarded the question and reached for the canteen strapped to the tech's belt. He downed the water in large, greedy gulps. He then pushed off the man and hurriedly limped toward the base entrance. After spending a day walking through the sands of the desert and then flying weightlessly through space, the solid tarmac felt odd under his feet.

He saw the door open beneath the control tower and his buddy Jack running towards him.

"Poe!" the man exclaimed, rushing up to meet him. And then his elation quickly turned to worry as he took in the pilot's ragged state. "Poe?!..What-? I-. I think you need to report to medical."

Poe brushed off the comment and latched onto Jack's arm, letting the now empty canteen drop between them. "Is BB-8 here?" He asked, his throat still feeling scratchy despite the water he had just downed.

"BB-8?" Jack responded, confused and concerned for his friend, "No. No, I thought he was with you. Poe. Listen. We should take you to medical."

"No, Jack." Poe knew there was desperation written all over his face and he was beginning to attract a small crowd on the landing strip, but he was past the point of caring. The adrenaline that had gotten him here was beginning to wear thin, and he was crashing. Crashing. Again. That was kind of funny to his muddled mind. "I need to report to General Organa. Now."

Jack's eyes scanned Poe's entire face and sensed the pilot's distress. "Alright, yeah. General Organa. Follow me." Then he turned to the workers that had frozen on the tarmac to watch this scene unfold, "Back to work everyone. Nothing to see here."

Jack took a step toward the base's entrance but when Poe moved to follow his body decided on something else. He felt a rush from his gut and doubled over, violently heaving up the water he had just gulped down. He fell to one knee as his body continued to dispel the liquid and bile, one arm wrapped around his middle, the other he leaned heavily on as to not fall and drown in the growing pool beneath him. Now that would be an ironic way to die. Dehydrated and drowned in a puddle of his on spit up water.

When his episode had finished, Jack was at his elbow hauling him up, "Up you get, Commander. General Organa, remember? Then straight to medical."

Once Poe had steadied, Jack pressed his own canteen into the pilot's hand. "Small sips," he encouraged and then led him into the base.

* * *

General Organa was in a meeting with other important Resistance members when Poe not so gracefully burst through the door.

"Poe?!" She exclaimed in a shocked, revolted, and worried state.

"General," he gasped breathlessly, "I need to speak with you." On any other occasion Poe would have been extremely embarrassed by his unprofessional behavior in front of all these higher-ups. He was a respected Commander. Their best pilot. A stand-up man from a military family. And here he was, barging in on a meeting in disarray, clearly having lost all composure.

"Of course Commander Dameron. We expected you back five days ago. Follow me, please." She then addressed the rest of the room, "We will finish this at a later time."

Poe followed the General into a small office to the left of the meeting room.

Before Leia had even sat down at her desk, Poe was rambling. "General. The map. First Order attacked. BB-8 – I gave it to him. I was captured. Some man he – he got in my mind. They know. Escaped. Finn. Crashed. BB-8. I don't - . He's not here. They know!"

All of these words came out very quick and panicked, between sharp breaths and the hitching of Poe's chest. Once again, Poe normally would have been embarrassed by his behavior, but he had to get it out. Had to explain. She had to understand.

Leia regarded him calmly. "Commander, please sit down."

"General. You don't understand. BB-8! The First Order-"

"Poe!" She cut his incoherent rambling off, "Please sit down before you fall down."

Poe clumsily fell more than sat in the chair behind him. His eyes urgently searching his General's face. She had to understand! She had to know that the First Order may be in possession of the map. That they had to concentrate all their man power on finding that droid. His droid. Orange and white BB Unit. One of a kind. BB-8.

"Thank you. Now explain."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He started in a broken voice, his damn chest still hitching. That hadn't stopped since his – his panic attack? – just outside of Jakku. He really hated how panicked he sounded right now. "This masked man. He- he got in my mind. He ripped the information out. I don't know how, but- but. They know! We have to find BB-8."

"That's enough, Poe. Please report to medical now."

She must think he was crazy. She thought he had lost his mind. Rambling about his missing droid. Rambling about a hallucination of a masked man he had concocted in order to accept that he had broken under his captor's torture.

But he wasn't crazy. She had to understand the state of things. "No! General, you don't understand! The map-"

Leia reached across her desk and grabbed Poe's hand. He suddenly felt a soothing feeling radiating from her finger tips, up his arms, lessening the panicked constriction around his heart and lungs.

"Poe, I understand. You've told me enough. We'll find that droid and the map it carries. They're more resourceful than you may think," a smile quickly filtered across her usually serious face at the mention of a droid. "You can give a full report after medical. Get some rest."

Poe moved to protest once more, but didn't get the words out before she spoke again.

"You did good, Poe. At ease, Commander."

At ease. The panic, fear, and desperation still swirled in Poe's foggy mind and his chest was still annoyingly hitching and throwing off his ability to properly breathe. But he also had the calm, soothing feeling traveling from the General's fingers tips, beating his distress back. At ease, she had said. Right. At ease. He could follow that order. And right there in the General's office, Poe Dameron passed out in his chair.

* * *

Authors note: Poor Poe. Finally figured out how to put those line page-break things in! Really wasn't that hard, I'm just an idiot. This chapter brought me back to more of Poe's inner monologue thoughts, which I concentrated on in the first chapter (which is still by far my favorite of this little story). Having less dialogue than chapter two, I was able to do that and still move the story forward. Thanks for the few reviews! I greatly appreciate them. All mistakes are mine. If you read, drop a small review, even if it's a thumbs up or down. Thanks! One more chapter to go I think...


	4. Chapter 4

Poe Dameron was lying on his bunk in the barracks, hands in his hair, picking sand from the scalp of his head. He had been released from the Medical Bay just yesterday, after two days of being pumped with fluids and generally not moving. His wounds had been stitched up, he had spent some time in a machine that left him walking away with new pink skin that replaced his painful burns, and was handed a bottle of antibiotics to take for the next three weeks.

Medical had taken away his burns, his scrapes, his infection, and even most of his pain, but he could not seem to get rid of this damn sand. It got everywhere! His hair, his eyebrows, creases in his skin – he would wake up in the morning, get out of bed, and would see it on his sheets. He had taken more showers in the past three days than he normally did in a week, and he was still finding sand. He really hated sand. He would never go to a beach again. He would definitely steer away from desert planets too.

But worse than the sand, he couldn't get the masked man out of his head. Kylo Ren. Man really knew how to leave an impression.

It didn't help that Poe hadn't been able to do anything to keep his mind occupied elsewhere. He gave his full report an hour after being released from Medical. This time he was able to articulate his words, explain through a clenched jaw his captor's abilities, and once again dishearteningly admit that the First Order knew about the map to Skywalker. The good news was that he had escaped before they could pull out any more important Resistance secrets. At least he thought so. It was hard to tell when someone else was riffling through your memories. After being reassured that BB-8 was being searched for, he had been dismissed. But that had been it. No new mission briefings, no meetings in Command, not even any flying. He was currently grounded.

But the grounding really was his doing. Poe had been cleared medically, but there were other protocols in place. Any soldier who had been captured, stranded behind enemy lines – or had any other traumatizing experience – had to be cleared by the base's psych doctor before they were deemed fit for duty. A head doctor. Someone else to rifle through his mind. Great.

In his past, Poe had had a few sessions with the man named Dr. Reese – once a year was their standard plus Poe had survived a few crash landings in his career. His squad had reported him KIA on more than one occasion. And when he came walking through the doors a few days later, people were genuinely shocked. Coming back from the dead was considered _traumatizing_ , so he had reported to Dr. Reese a few times. It normally wasn't something Poe was worried about. Chat a bit about his experience, smile, be clear there was no mental trauma (normally there really wasn't), and in no time he was cleared for the skies.

But this time, Poe was a bit weary to say the least. After Kylo Ren, he was pretty set on people poking around in his head for the rest of his life. And yeah, Dr. Reese didn't actually _get inside_ his head like his captor did, but it was the same principle. Plus, he had to admit, if he did buck up the courage to go, he wasn't so sure he would be cleared for duty. He wasn't sleeping well, he'd had a few nightmares when he was in Medical that the doctors had seen him wake from in a panic, he had lost a few hours of his days and been found wondering the base not entirely sure how he'd gotten there, and the fact that he was worried about a psych doctor because it reminded him of his mind probing may raise some red flags.

Poe had tried to go around this little detail that would deem him "fit for duty." Just that morning he had tried to take his black X-Wing up in the air. He hadn't flown it since before his mission and never liked to let it sit for too long. But he was denied clearance to take off. They had actually threatened to shoot him down if he attempted! I guess even the best pilot in the Resistance had to go through the proper safety protocols of being cleared. Damn it. He had thought that maybe they would let him slide.

So there he sat, trying to rid his body of the aggravating, coarse sand one grain at a time while also bucking up the courage to pay Dr. Reese a visit. His mind wandered back to the masked man killing Lor San Tekka and then freezing him and the blast he had shot in place. That was pretty amazing. And pretty terrifying. He had turned back to look at the blue/white blast frozen and vibrating slightly, making sure what he had seen was real. It was. And right then, he knew he was in over his head.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts before his mind could wander any further into his experience with the First Order. "Damn it, Dameron. Pull yourself together," he whispered aloud. He needed to rid himself of these Kylo Ren hauntings as much as he needed to rid himself of the damn sand. These were the moments he really wished BB-8 was around to converse with. The droid always knew what to say. Despite his metal body, he had a surprisingly big, human heart.

Just then there was a knock at his door. Poe grumbled as he got up, tilting his head to the side and shaking his hand through his hair to knock out any loose sand (and bad memories) as he approached it. When the door slid back into the wall with a _whoosh_ , he was a bit shocked to see General Organa standing before him. And he was pretty sure the shock was written all over his normally schooled face. Well, might as well add another extreme emotion to the list he'd recently come off to the General as. Desperate, wounded, weak, crazy - and now shocked.

"Ah..General Organa," he sputtered not knowing what to do or say, but his body automatically straightening up and stepping to attention.

"Commander Dameron, may I come in," she said coolly. Like these visits were totally normal. And although Poe knew General Leia Organa better than most, and she was known for being friendly with her soldiers, this was not normal. Not in the slightest.

Poe stood obstructing the entrance for a beat too long before the request registered. "Um, Yeah. Yes Ma'am. Of course." He said stepping aside and motioning her in, "Come in."

As the General stepped inside, he surveyed his room. It was actually relatively clean – they were military after all, not to mention Poe grew up in a military family. Besides his bunk being ruffled where he had just been lying, the only thing out of place was his roommate's sock drawer that remained open with a pair sticking out. Poe quickly walked over and shut it.

"Commander, I'm paying you a visit because we just received a call. We believe your BB unit has been spotted." General Organa was known for getting straight to the point.

"BB-8," he said almost breathlessly, "He's okay."

"We think so. We're gearing up to send a squadron in to retrieve him. It's likely the First Order also has heard of his appearance. To say the least, there's an interesting mix of people in the place he was seen."

Poe looked at her dumbly, trying to take it all in. BB-8 was spotted. He was okay. For now. A squadron was going in…

"I want you to lead that squadron." She finished, looking him square in the eye.

"Of course, Gener-"

"But I'm under the impression that you have yet to be cleared by Psych," she cut him off, her eyes going soft.

Well, now Poe was extremely embarrassed. He thought he had humiliated himself two days ago, when he had bursted in on her meeting in a panic, rambling incoherently, and the big finale – passing out in her office. But, evidently not. Because this took the cake. That pitying look. Poor, tortured Poe, too afraid to face the head doctor.

Poe opened his mouth hesitantly to respond, trying to cook up a good excuse. _I've been busy_. Nope. _I forgot._ Yeah, right. _I don't want someone else going through my head_. That was on point, but not what he wanted to admit.

Before he could make a further fool of himself, Leia continued. "You know, I too was captured once. Hid stolen information vital to the Rebellion in a droid, just like you."

Poe nodded once, not quite meeting her eyes.

"I was tortured too. Saw my home planet blown up right in front of me."

Poe wanted to feel sorry for her, and he truly did. But he found himself blurting out, "But you still didn't break."

"Poe," the General approached him, placing her hand on his shoulder and he felt that same soothing feeling traveling into his body that he had a few days before when the General had taken his hand. She shook her head, and made the taller man meet her gaze, "Poe, you didn't break. I know what he's capable of. I'm so sorry."

Poe knew the General meant Kylo Ren, why she hadn't addressed him by name he didn't know. He also wasn't sure why she was apologizing. But, when he thought about it, everyone did when they felt uncomfortable for someone elses pain. Countless people had spoken the same words to him the past three days. Though, her apology felt more genuine than the others. Maybe it was because she had sent him on the mission. Thought he could handle it. He had thought that too. Until a gloved hand hovered in front of his face and he swore it reached inside his skull and ripped his mind to pieces…

"Poe," she said again, regaining his attention. "It's okay to be affected by this. You're not the same person as when you last left this base. Dr. Reese knows that. Don't be afraid of him."

Poe nodded once, swallowing hard and blinking repeatedly. He didn't know why his eyes felt watery. God, all he needed was to cry in front of the General. That would get him the green card to fly for sure. After the last few days, he never thought he would wish such a thing, but he would give anything to be severely dehydrated right now.

The General also nodded and took her hand back. The warmth that had spread through Poe's body suddenly seized. Her features went serious again, back to the General Organa he knew. "Wheels up in an hour, Commander. I could really use our best pilot." And she turned and left the room without waiting for a response.

When the door slid shut behind her, Poe released a deep breath and brought his palms up to his eyes, digging at the pent up moisture and making his eyes hurt. _He could be affected by this. Wheels up in an hour. He could be affected by this but still do his duty_. He believed that, was sure he could fly without putting anyone, or himself, in anything but the obvious danger of being shot down by their enemies. But would Dr. Reese?

* * *

Not long after Leia had left his room, Poe found himself in the outskirts of the Med Bay, standing outside Dr. Reese's door. He had been in this location longer than he would have liked to admit, taking slow deep breaths, both hands on top of his head and elbow spread wide, as if he was trying to catch his breath after a workout. He could do this. This was nothing like the First Order's interrogation. Poe didn't have to give up any information he didn't want to. The doc wasn't going to reach in his head and pick through his memories, bringing forward his insecurities. This was just a regular conversation. About his feelings. About his inner thoughts. That would be analyzed and calculated and thrown back in his face…

Poe shook his head and dropped his arms to his sides, giving them a shake as well. The longer he stood outside of this door, the more like he felt he would never enter it. Closing his eyes, he reached out one arm and knocked. He was no coward. He could do this.

The response was almost immediate. Before Poe's arm even dropped to his side he heard a voice respond, "Come in." And the door slid open on its own accord.

Poe hesitantly stepped inside. Dr. Reese sat at his desk, files stacked neatly on either side of him and a data pad sitting in the center holding the doctor's attention. He was still bent over the pad, eyes looking down his long nose and finishing up whatever work he had been doing before Poe interrupted.

"Dr. Reese," Poe said not quite meeting his eyes as the man straightened up and regarded his visitor. "I know this is short notice and I don't mean to interrupt," he motioned toward the stacks of papers, "you're obviously very busy…" he trailed off.

The doctor sat back in his chair, sensing Poe's discomfort but refusing to interrupt as the pilot clearly wanted him to.

Poe took a deep breath and dove in, as he would any dog fight he faced.

"I wanted to know if you could do my psych eval now? There's a mission about to take place, wheels up within the hour – and I would like to be up there with my squad."

Dr. Reese nodded, motioning him in. "Have a seat," he indicated the worn wooden chair in front of him.

Poe walked over and gingerly sat down. Despite its hard appearance, the chair was surprising comfortable. The worn down wood was smooth and the rounded high back seemed to hug whoever sat in it. So different from that interrogation table he was strapped too. That had been cold metal, the cuffs had dug uncomfortably into his wrist and ankles…He quickly cut off his wandering thoughts again. "Shut it down." He said to himself.

Dr. Reese had pushed his data tablet to the side and removed his glasses, quickly rifling through a stack of folders. "Umm," Poe began awkwardly, "I'm Commander Poe Dameron." He didn't have an appointment, and there were so many people on base he didn't expect the single psych doctor to remember him.

The doctor smiled as he pulled a folder from the stack. "I remember, Poe. I've been expecting you," he said as he opened it.

Unlike the rest of the base, the Psych department was very informal. No ranking titles were used, only first names. Poe figured they wanted to keep the meetings personal. Regard the patient in front of them as an individual life form, and not just a soldier. It was a little disconcerting. Right now Poe would love to be looked at as just another number - just another body to throw up in the skies and provide cover fire. Pilot identifier RS-001. _Just sign my papers please, and I'll be off to likely die with the rest of the numbers out there._

Finally settling back against his chair again with the file now open, Dr. Reese met Poe's dark eyes and asked, "Now tell me, Poe, why do you want to go on this mission?"

Well that was an easy one. He had expected, "What was it like to have a man rifle through your private thoughts? Did you feel exposed? What about that crash? You killed a man that helped you escape, didn't you? How do you feel now? I've heard you've been having nightmares? What are your thoughts on your actions of betraying the Resistance, even though you claim it was out of your control? Your thoughts on betraying your most trusted friend? You consider your _droid_ to be your most trusted friend?"

 _Why did he want to go?_ Poe took a deep breath and spoke, "To finish the mission I started. To get back in my own ship. To get my droid back... And my squad needs me up there," he pointed up toward the sky and shrugged, "I can't let them down."

Dr. Reese never broke the pilot's eye contact as he gave his short and concise answer. His eyes seemed to bore deep into Poe's, and Poe tried not to back down but he eventually did look away at the floor. Still, he felt the doctor's eyes upon him. Taking in his bruised face, the stitched cut over his eyebrow, the dark circles under his eyes. Poe thought about bowing out right there. This man wasn't going to clear him. Poe did not look the part of the young, confident pilot he had just one week ago. He couldn't even keep the man's eyes contact! He had broke under Kylo Ren's interrogation. He had crashed the TIE fighter. He was broken. He had crashed.

No. That wasn't him. He was the Resistance's most daring pilot. He could fly anything. He was his father's son – a soldier through and through. He was his mother's son – a damn good pilot. Swallowing hard, Poe lifted his face back up and regained the eye contact he had avoided a moment before.

The doctor nodded, "Alright then. You're cleared, Poe."

Poe looked at him dumbly. "What?"

Shit. He had said that out loud. He should have nodded, smiled, and walked out the door – but he was so shocked he had spoken his uncertainty. He was such an idiot. There goes that clearance. Might as well have broken into tears and rolled around on the floor. That sounded like a great idea now that it didn't matter. He was going to be grounded now for sure.

The doctor's gaze softened, "I read your report, Poe." He glanced down at the folder in front of him before looking back up at the Commander. "I know why you've been avoiding this meeting."

Poe looked down at his shoes guiltily. He couldn't find it in himself to deny it. The doctor had all the facts laid out in front of him and he was a smart man – he could easily put two and two together.

"I'm not going to force anything out of you, Poe. I want you to know that you're safe here. This is not an interrogation. Anything you want to talk about, I want you to say on your own accord."

Poe nodded once, still looking at his shoes.

"All I wanted you to do was find it in yourself to come to this psych eval and give me a good answer as to why you want to get back out there. That speaks worlds about you mental health, Poe. You're a strong man. You're cleared for the mission."

Poe finally looked up, a small smile gracing his face. He hadn't had something to smile about in a while. "Thank you, doc."

Dr. Reese nodded once and picked up his pen to quickly sign his name on the indicated line. He handed the pink paper to Poe as the pilot stood from his chair.

Before he released the paper he met Poe's eyes one more time. "Poe, if you want to come back here and talk about anything, that door is open. But it's up to you. Whenever you're ready. You're safe here. You remember that."

Poe couldn't find it in himself to talk. He nodded and channeled his gratitude through his eyes as he took the paper, swiftly turning around and heading in the direction of the tarmac.

Though a rush of emotions was running through him – relief, exhaustion, happiness, anxiety – he steeled himself as he jogged down the halls toward the pilot locker rooms, where one of his flight suits awaited him. It was time to get back in his ship. It was time to get BB-8 back. He had promised he would come back for him, and he meant to keep that promise.

* * *

Before he knew it, he had turned in his clearance to command, receiving a small smile from General Organa herself, and he was walking toward his black T-70 X-wing in his bright orange flight suit. This felt right. Almost. It would feel more right when BB-8 was once again riding behind him. He climbed the familiar ladder, settled into the pilot's seat and began his takeoff procedures – warming up the engines, entering coordinates, pulling on his helmet, activating his comms and letting the chatter of his squadron fill his ear.

"Black Leader, standing by," he stated, and the chatter immediately stopped, before quickly picking back up.

"I was wondering what insane pilot would take on the Leader role of this squadron."

"Good to have you back, Commander."

"No one crazy enough but you to lead us, Dameron."

Poe closed his eyes for a moment and smiled, the stress pouring out of him as his cockpit hatch locked with a hiss. Sure, he could fly anything. But flying this X-wing with these people was more than _anything_ , it was _everythin_ g. This right here was home. And all he was missing was his orange and white BB unit. But that, he was planning to quickly change.

* * *

The End

Authors Note: If you stayed through to the end, thanks for reading! So much! Not even kidding, it means the world! All mistakes are mine (God knows I can edit this 30 times and there are still many). I own nothing that pertains to this universe. Sorry for the mild swearing, but Poe it s grown man after all. This took a little longer than expected seeing as life interferes, but I've been chopping away at it little by little every chance I got. I wanted to bring the ending around full circle, and hopefully I succeeded. Please review if you read, so I know someone read it! Thanks again!

-Dani


End file.
